unsighted
by zynaofthenight
Summary: She's stuck as a mummy in the attic forever, giving prophecies to demigods until she crumbles away into dust. Or so she thought. The story of the former Oracle of Delphi.


_She's stuck as a mummy in the attic forever, giving prophecies to demigods until she crumbles away into dust. Or so she thought. The story of the former Oracle of Delphi._

**[A/N]: **A little story on the former Oracle of Delphi. Because no one appreciates her very much. Kinda a bit more on the 'adult themes' part…ish. It deserves its T rating. Just an advance warning to those who are used to my normal, innocent writing. Yup. Uh…this is a short story, so only a few chapters. The year is 1940, after the end of World War II. Yeah. Uh…enjoy? Read this? Freak out? Nod randomly? Review please? Heh…*hopeful face*

zynaofthenight does not own PJO. She wishes she did though, because then, she'd be really awesome. Unfortunately…she doesn't. *sad face*

* * *

_**-**_**unsighted-**

_By: zynaofthenight_

Prologue: Of Taverns and Gods

* * *

The smell of alcohol burns sharply in the air, and she flinches a bit, trying to not to make a face as the whiff of the hot, drunk breath of the burly man blasts right into her face. Reflexively, she swiftly takes a quick look at the clock hanging behind her—it's only midnight, and there's still a few more hours before the last staggering drinkers slump out of the door of the tavern she works at to pay the bills for her family.

The man notices her glance, though. He sneers at her with rotting teeth, his eyes lighting up with a sort of intoxicated perverseness. She shudders inwardly as she gets a feeling what is going on in his mind. So when the man leans forward, she doesn't act surprised or afraid. She just narrows her eyes and takes a step back firmly, placing her hands on her hips. "Don't even try to _think_ about seducing me, mister," she warns, watching his hands in case he tries to grab one of her arms. "If you want another drink, I'm afraid that I can't give you another one. You're too drunk and you'll probably start being sick and passing out in the middle of the street. I think you should go now. Really. If you value your health, then you should probably get out."

"Not now," he slurs, collapsing upon the bar counter, drooling all over the wooden surface. She takes another step backwards, disgusted as strings of spit dribble down his chin. The man raises his head from the table and leers at her. "Baby," he says sloppily, stumbling over his pronunciations, "I've got a bed for us two tonight, eh? You wanna come with me? You virgin?"

"I'm twelve years old," she retorts sharply. "Hardly old enough to be your daughter, much less your bed partner. Get out, _now_, before I call the authorities."

The man growls angrily and stands up, his huge figure looming above her. For a moment, her heart beats wildly against her chest in fear, but she sucks her breath in, and the man is gone, having staggered out of the door. His parting words to her, whispered harshly into her ear as he passes by: "_You haven't seen the last of me." _It sends shivers down her back, but she shrugs the eerie threat off, and continues serving the other drinkers in the tavern. But now, she notes with a sense of relief, nobody else dares to talk to her in any way other than a polite tone after watching her face the man and force him out. At least she won't be bothered anymore by drunk men for the rest of her shift tonight.

It's almost three in the morning when the last drinkers stumble out the door. She stacks the mugs of beer in the sink, wipes the tables, and mops the floor. When the tavern is clean again, she puts on her coat and walks out, locking the door behind her. Looking both ways, she crosses the street in front of the tavern and begins her walk home, in the dark of the early morning. Though it's late out, the streets of Las Vegas are crowded, bustling with people under the streetlights that illuminate the night. Signs hang everywhere, asking people to support the war effort. _It doesn't really matter now_, she thinks grimly as she passes by a set of colorful signs advocating war bonds—World War II is over: the U.S. army has released an atom bomb in Japan a long time ago, and there's really nothing else to fight against.

The shadows lengthen as she veers away from the streetlight-lit sidewalks and turns to the dark alleyways in between a series of old, worn-down apartment houses. She shivers—the night is chilly and her threadbare coat is little asset to the cold. Nearby, sonorous bells chime gravely in the air as the hands on a huge clock on the roof of a flashy hotel nearby strike three o'clock. She feels a stab of panic as she realizes this is a horrible night to be out late; a night perfect for thieves, gangs, and any other sort of criminal who would jump at the first chance to harm a defenseless, young girl like herself.

She wraps her coat even more tightly around herself, taking some comfort in the faint flowery scent that always reminds her of home. _Home_. She can picture her mother's anxious face hovering above her, worrying for her oldest child. With six children in the family, and no father, the only way she can help her mother is to work for wages. The tavern is not her first choice, but with a failing economy due to the Great Depression, and the shock of the war just ending, serving alcohol to people seems the best job at the time. And since alcohol has just been legal again, with the twenty-first amendment passed in 1933, which repeals the prohibition of alcoholic beverages due to the eighteenth amendment, passed in 1919, many people spend what little money they have on beer and wine.

She ducks through a narrow entrance behind a collapsed building, scanning the dark with her almost catlike eyes in case someone else comes along. There's no sign of any other living creature, so she walks quickly along the side of the building, until she reaches an old apartment, so old that the shutters on the windows are falling off, the roof is covered in moss and mildew, and the bricks are worn and crumbled. She fumbles with the right pocket of her coat until she finds a key—a worn down, dull metal key. She moves to a door marked with the numbers '384' and inserts the key into the doorknob, and the door swings open silently when she presses upon the frame.

"Mother?" she calls as she steps into the house, closing the door gently behind her. At once a chorus of cheerful delight reaches her, and she's overwhelmed with hugs and light, such a contrast to the cold, dark streets outside. Her five siblings are all chattering excitedly and her mother is smiling warmly at her—_but something is wrong. _Shelly, her youngest sister, stops hugging her to say something in her ear, but she can't register anything anyone says. As Shelly moves away from obscuring her view, she gets a glimpse of a man standing next to her mother, who had been hidden from her sight by Shelly. The drunk man who threatened her in the tavern.

He seems sober now, but as she stares in horror, his face transforms. The edges of his teeth are turning sharp and pointed, and his eyes are wild with some sort of madness, but she can't really tell. She steps back, shuddering under the vision in fear. She's seen people like this before, and she knows from experience that no one else can see them.

True enough, her family doesn't notice the monster that now stands in their dining room. Her mother pulls her over happily to the man. "Celia, this is Mr. Morgensen, an investor who thinks he can solve out money problems. Isn't that wonderful?" Her mother's eyes are bright with emotion and joy, the happiest she's seen her parent since her father passed away.

"Yes," she mumbles unhappily, trembling under the harsh gaze of the man. "A wonderful opportunity for us, Mother."

"Celia, is it? That's your name?" The man leans back, a cruel grin in his expression. "What a lovely, pretty girl you have here, Ms. Relin. Absolutely lovely. Would you like to give me a tour of this place. girl?"

Her long, dark hair is matted with filth and mud, and she hasn't taken a shower in days. Stuck in a smoky tavern with drunken men all around her has not improved her complexion, but she knows the man is taunting her for what has happened earlier. She hangs her head in embarrassment, but she wishes she can disappear from the world, away from this monster that no one but she can see. The man grows in size, though of course, no one else notices, and he growls deep inside his throat. "I asked you a question," he rumbles, dangerously calm. "Would you like to give me a tour, girl? Give me an answer now, before I get too impatient."

She knows he means to do harm to her, but already, her mother has pushed her towards the man, nodding. "Yes, Celia, darling, please help out guest out a bit here. Give him a tour." And with those words spoken, she has no choice but to comply. She walks out of the door, the man following her, and when the door closes behind them, she edges away from the man, terror threatening to overwhelm her senses.

The man grabs her wrists and slams her against the wall of the apartments, his demented face leaning over her. Hot, stinking, and disgusting, his breath splatters over her face and she trembles, awaiting the worst. She's going to die here, at the hands of a monster that no one but she can see. A low whimper escapes her, and inside her mind, she's screaming for help: _Anyone! Save me!_ But her efforts are fruitless and she knows that, because there's no way anyone will come and save her.

And then suddenly, the monster is gone, disintegrated to dust particles floating in the air as she catches her breath. She stands up shakily, massaging her wrists, wincing as she passes her fingers over a few new bruises. She glances around for her savior, but she cannot see anyone. "Hello?" she calls out, still trembling. "Whoever saved me—who are you?"

A voice hisses to her—"Slip behind the house; I'm in the alleyway behind you."

She follows the voice, half wondering if this is the trick of yet another monster. In the dark strip of alley behind her home, a figure stands there. She hears a _click_ and light floods her surroundings, and she finds herself staring at a handsome boy, about seventeen years old— blonde-haired, blue-eyed, cheerful looking—the ideal type of boy she always dreams about. She's suddenly flushing as she realizes how she must look, dirty, bruised, and filthy, covered in dirt.

"Are you alright?" The boy watches her with concern in his eyes. "The monster almost got you there."

She clears her throat, still flushing. ""I'm fine," she says. The next few words she says take a whole lot harder to get out, though. "Did…did you see what that man was like?"

"Laestrygonian giant," he answers, almost absentmindedly. "They're cannibal monsters, encountered by Odysseus in his travels. Ever read the _Odyssey_?" He smiles at her, and her heart flutters. _Stop it_, she tells herself, resisting the urge to brush her hair back with her fingers and make herself look more presentable. _He's so much older than you__—__you're only twelve years old__—__it's not like he's going to notice how you look. _

So she settles for focusing on what he says. "I beg your pardon?" she asks, confused. "The _Odyssey_?"

"It's an interesting story," he says. "I can tell you it some other time. How old are you?"

"Twelve," she whispers, wondering what he means by _some other time_. Does he mean he will see her again? A faint hope rises inside her chest, but she pushes it down, feeling outraged at herself. _He doesn't care. So you shouldn't care either._

He bends down until they're level, eye to eye. "I can help you," he tells her. "If you come with me—I can tell you all about the monsters you see, what they are, why your world is so strange, so messed up." There's a sort of brotherly affection in his expression, and she smiles back at him. "I'd love to," she responds, but then she stops short, realizing that she can't leave her family behind—her mother, her siblings—they all depend on her; she can't just leave them with no money, and no living. They'd all die of starvation without her to support them.

The boy nods as if he knows what she is thinking. "You're worrying about your family. I can help them, give them all their money to see their way through the Depression and prosper afterwards."

Suddenly, she's on the alert, backing away from the boy. "You're not one of those rich boys from some rich family who preys on the poor, are you?" she asks shakily. "I know your kind. They pretend to help us, to care for us, then in a second, all our hopes are gone, and the poor are left in even worse poverty." Her voice sounds sharp, accusing, and she winces as she realizes she's eyeing the person who just saved her life with a sort of disgust. She stops and feels a rush of loathing at herself—how could she be so unkind?

He watches her with a strange expression in his eyes, a look that she can't discern. "It's alright," he says. "I don't blame you for saying that. You should be suspicious. But if I told you I wasn't a rich boy, wanting to destroy the hopes of some poor people—that I'm just a person who wants to help you; a person who _can_ help you—would you believe me?"

She nods mutely, relieved that he isn't angry. "I can trust you," she murmurs, barely audible even to herself, but he seems to hear her. "But how can you help my family?"

"Well then, I guess I'll have to start by introducing myself," he says. "My name is Apollo."

"Apollo?" The name feels familiar. "Apollo, as in the Greek god of the sun?"

"The very same," he laughs. "And what's your name?"

"Celia Relin," she replies, watching him with newfound respect, though confusion was there too. "So, how can you help me?"

"You know the things you see that no one else can see, Celia? Well, they're real. They're all around us, but only certain people can see them. The Greek gods….you've heard of them, yes? The Greek gods…they're real." He stares past her, blankly, as if reliving memories, so hidden and deep in the past that she can't even imagine what they are.

"And you're one of them," she whispers. "You're Apollo, Greek god of the sun, of prophecy, of music, archery, poetry…" She swallows, and to her surprise, feels an immense relief at this. "I knew it," she continues, more to herself than to him, "I knew it. They exist…and all I've seen, that no one else can see—it's real, it's all real." A sob rises in her throat and she looks at him. If this is a dream, then she never wants it to end. She wants to go on forever knowing that she isn't hallucinating when she sees strange things that are invisible to others.

He nods ever so slightly. "If you want answers to your questions, you'll have to come with me."

"But…my family…"

"You know why only you can see these things, Celia? There's a sort of force called the Mist, and you were born with the ability to see through the Mist. If you want me to, I can use the Mist to remove you from the memories of your family and everyone you've known. Your family will be safe, they won't miss you, and I'll make sure that they live a life of prosperity after this."

She draws her breath back, considering his offer. "Why should I? I'll be leaving my entire life behind—just to follow you, a stranger I met only a few minutes ago. And I'm not even considering the part that you're making an absurd claim about the Greek gods."

"You have no reason to come with me," he admits, "but I'm your only chance for answering your questions. Plus," he points out, "you believe my claim about the Greek gods. Your family will lead a better life…_you_ will lead a better life. I can help you."

The emotion in his eyes floods over her, and she closes her own eyes. "Fine," she says softly after a moment of silence. "But please, do help my family."

"I will," he promises, and takes her hand. She draws away with a gasp as her wrists sting with a sharp, intense pain. He looks over her hands, frowning. "You're hurt." She shrugs, and shakes her head. "It's nothing," she says shakily, ignoring the stab of pain in her wrists. "It's just that the giant was a bit harsh on my hands when he was cornering me against the wall."

"No, you're not fine," he says. Bending over her wrists, he mutters something, and suddenly, the pain fades away and the dark bruises that spotted her skin disappeared. "There. Come on, now. We'll get to my place, and I can explain everything to you."

She takes one last glance at her home—the place she has lived in since she was born—then follows the boy—the god, actually—who changed her life just a few moments ago, out of the alley, into a whole new world.

* * *

**[A/N]: **Hmm…I hope I got all the dates right, and the times and eras correct. I learned all of this last year in school, about the amendments, the Great Depression, and World War II, etc., but I guess I managed to forget it all over the summer. Oh well. It's not like I'll be using this as a living, since I don't plan on being a historian anytime soon…*crosses fingers in hope*

So, what do you think? Is it good? An original idea? Compelling? Awesome? Or just plain crappy? Please review, since that would be very much appreciated ^_^ Tell me what you thought of this, any grammatical/punctuation/spelling mistakes (oh, darn, 'punctuational' isn't a word), any crappiness in my skill of writing, er…yeah. You get the point. But a review pointing out that this is an awesome story and awesome writing would be very much appreciated :D

Yes, I know the oracle's supposed to have short hair, but I gave her long hair in this chapter on purpose. Because…she cuts it off later! *gasp*

You know, I seem to have an obsession with dashes, semicolons, and commas. Huh. Eh, anywho…

For the love of cheese and the existence of Shadowhunters,

_ὡ__zyna__ὡ_

P.S. Happy New Year, everyone! Let's hope for a great 2011! It's only one more year until 2012, when the end of the world comes about!


End file.
